Kitsune: I thought of this while watching Casper. I don't exactly know why, so please don't ask. Just review, please.

Plus, I got part of the idea from watching In Search Of on the Sci-Fi channel, which gave me the idea for Ghost Lovers. So, I don't take any credit for that.

Plus, again, I don't own Casper or its characters.

A warning to those who are devoted Casper fans . . . this is nitty gritty, nasty stuff; rape, torture, etc. So flame me all you want, I don't give a pig's ass! Ha! Naw, I'm kidding, but if you don't like it, don't read it, okay? I didn't make this just to have people criticize me and tell me how 'Oh, that's not a very "Casper-Friendly" theme!' So, get off, me, this is rated M.


Ghost Lover

Summary: Nearly 50 years have passed at Whipstaff. The only remaining residents are two ghost brothers. But when a lonely living girl takes up residence there, she finds herself torn in two; while one brother seems to show concern for her, the other finds her a bit more appealing than normal. Rated M for rape, torture, and adult content, sorta.


Fifty years had gone by. Oh, they flew by so fast. Fifty years since the Harvey's had taken up residence in the old, haunted Whipstaff Manor; fifty years since Casper found friendship and love in the human girl, Kat; since Carrigan died and passed over; since James Harvey had found his deceased wife, Amelia, and fifty years since she'd crossed over.

Fifty years. And in that span of time, things slowly began to go downhill.

Young Casper, having found friendship and the joy of being alive again, passed over around a year after the grand Halloween party. Mr. Harvey passed on after Kat graduated college and got married to a young inventor, and moved out of the country.

And then Fatso passed on to the afterlife . . .

Stinkie sighed as he glanced at the picture of his brother and as the memories assaulted him. He looked at the empty bed. He sighed. "Stretch, it jus' ain't a party no more wit'out Fatso."

"You been saying dat for nearly twenty years now, Stinkie," Stretch said, glancing at a newspaper. "Wishin' he was back ain't gonna bring 'im back. Ya don't want 'im ta be stuck here again, do ya?"

"Maybe," the other ghost said. He floated onto his bed, his ghostly tail falling limply over the side, just as his legs would if he were alive again. A thought suddenly hit him. "Hey, Stretch?"

"What now?"

"Have ya ever wondered jus' how we died?"

Stretch's head popped up, slightly, as he glanced in his brother's direction. "Of course I have,"

"Yeah, but, have ya ever found out?"

"Look, Stinkie, I don't know how or why we died, we jus' did."

Stinkie glanced at his lap, depressed. "Maybe we were too roudy in life . . . Too mean . . ."

Stretch threw the paper at Stinkie's head, said-paper going right through the other ghost's semi-transparent cerebrum. This got its desired effect, getting the other ghost's attention while riling him up.

"Hey! What'd'ya do dat for?"

"You think too much nowadays, Stinkie," Stretch said, floating to the closed door. "Dat's what caused Casper ta move on." And with that, he floated through the door, heading towards who-knows-where.

Stinkie continued to look at the spot where his brother had been. He sighed. Now what would he do?


A young girl, around 16 or 17, ran down the gravel drive. Her breathing was heavy, and she constantly looked behind her. There were footsteps, rushing towards her. They were getting closer!

The sky grew darker as she neared a large manor that overlooked the ocean. Rain began to pelt her, staining her blueish-purple hooded sweatjacket and her blue jeans. Muds and dirty water stained her converse (I've noticed, all my heroines have converse . . . I think . . .). She stumbled a couple of times, but continued. She had to get away.

"Come back, Sweetheart," a young man's voice called out of the darkness. She turned, looking into that darkness. The wind whipped the raindrops around her, obscurring her vision.

She turned and ran, hot tears burning down her face. She gave a few grunts as she fought her way through the storm. She could still her him, and he was getting closer.

"The itsy bitsy loner ran through the storm tonight . . ." the man's voice sang, sickly.

She continued to run, until she slammed into a metal gate. She grunted in pain, as she looked at the thing, putting her fingers over the pieces of metal.

"Come out and play, loner . . ."

Gods, she could feel his breath in her ear! His hands wound harshly around her stomach, bringing her backside against him, and the bulge which signalled his arousal. "I've got you now . . ."

She struggled against him, pushing him away from her. "Get away!" she cried. "Leave me alone!" She kicked him, causing him to cry out and fall back, while she began to pull against the fence. It wouldn't budge. She felt along it, finding how the chains wrapped around the part in the gate. It was locked up tight.

She desperately wound her fingers against the gate, hoping to find an opening large enough for her to get through. She felt his hand on her ankle and screamed, kicking him in the face, and making him scream in pain. She got on her stomach, searching for an opening under the fence. She found one and scuttled under as quickly as she could. When she knew she was one the other side, she ran as fast as she could, anywhere. Tripping on stone steps, she scurried into the shelter of the porch of the manor, where the rain couldn't reach her.

She glanced behind her, out into the darkness, hearing the clanging of the gate and the chain against the iron, the sound of shoes against gravel, cloth against gravel . . .

He'd found the opening under the gate.

She turned, rushing to find the door, found it, turned. It was stuck. She screamed for someone to let her in, crying, begging. Oh, why wouldn't they let her in? This was life or death!

The knob suddenly turned, as she pounded the door open, rushing inside and slamming it in the young man's face. He screamed profanities at her, screaming for her to open the door. She barred it with a heavy object and stepped away.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself to protect her from the cold. It was very cold in this place . . .

She took a few steps in, into the dark, yes, again, into the darkness. She could just make out a curling banister and stairs, leading up, up and away. There seemed to be a swirling pattern on the floor, spreading from the middle. The manor was Victorian-esk, but she saw no owner.

"Hello?" she called, "Is . . . Is anybody here?"


"Hello? Is . . . Is anybody here?"

Stinkie's head popped up as a voice echoed through the house. His mouth hung open in a small 'O', making half of his two large front teeth glimmer a slight yellow in the light produced by the lightning. His head turned swiftly to the door. "Someone's here!"

He flew through the door, leaving a light, smokey trail, as he flew through the house, searching for the owner of that voice. 'Da foyer,' he thought, and headed for it.

He came to a sudden stop at the top of the stairs, noticing his brother had come as well. Stretch turned to him. "You heard it, too?" he asked, quietly. Stinkie nodded, floating closer.

Both looked down at the intruder.

It was soggy and wet, wearing a light blueish purple sweatjacket, jeans, and converse. The hood was up, but it brought it down. The two ghosts stared into the face of a 17 year old girl with long brown hair and wide, frightened eyes. They recoiled.

She seemed frightened and confused, and definately cold, from the way she shivered and clutched herself. Her clothes were ragged and worn out.

"What do we do?" Stinkie asked. Stretch continued to stare at the girl, while a plot formed at the back of his mind. A sinister plot, something even the Ghostly Trio wouldn't do. He mentally smirked at this, but decided he would try this plan out another time. For now, he would deal with this Fleshie a different way.

Stretch brushed his thin arm against his brother's. "Go check outside."

"Huh? Why?"

"Because Elvis wants ta borrow some sugar," Stretch grumbled, sarcastically, "Why do ya think I want ya to check outside?"

Stinkie shrugged. Stretch sighed.

"She's runnin' from somethin'. Go check what."

Stinkie mumbled a little 'fine,' and floated towards the door, turning transparent so as not to get the girl's attention, and floated through the door. He came back a few seconds later. "Some mutt outside, probably was tryin' to rape her." he reported.

Stretch crossed his arms, gazing down at the girl, eyes narrowing. "I thought so," he said. "Stinkie, deal wit 'im." Stinkie saluted and flew away. "Listen you," Stretch called down. The girl turned, staring into the darkness with wide, frightened eyes.

"Are . . ." she began, "Are you the landlord or the owner of the house?"

"Of a sorts," Stretch said, quietly, but still loud enough for her to hear. "Listen, who do ya think you are, barging into our home like dat?"

The girl seemed to recoil at his harsh tone. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, sir, but . . . it's just that, this man--"

"I know, it's being taken care of," Stretch replied.


The man banged his entire body against the door, cursing that girl. How dare she deny him like that! And not only deny him—oh, no—she defied him and responded in 'self-defense'.

And thus, he continued his vain attempts to get into the large manor.

Stinkie melted through the wall, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at this man. Hmph. Scum. Not worthy enough to lick the dirt off his sheets. However, he smirked, creeping up behind him, and sending out a small puff of his horrendous odor. The man continued to pound the door, oblivious to the attack on his sense of smell. By the time he realised it, it was too late. He fainted from the odor, and Stinkie gave a small chortle as he floated down by him.

The man shook his head, trying to regain consciousness. But, as he looked up, Stinkie morphed into a horrible ghoul, with large, bloodshot yellow eyes, sharp green teeth, and a forked tongue, as his head grew larger to give an added effect. He growled menacingly, making the man shit his pants and scream, running off.

As Stinkie morphed back, he burst into laughter and melt away, back through the door, immediately becoming invisible as he floated past the girl and towards Stretch, also invisible, at the top of the staircase.

Stinkie saluted. Stretch patted his brother's back. Both looked down on this girl, again. What to do with her?

"Look, girl," Stretch called down to her, "Dat man won't bother ya, so ya can leave." He didn't mean it, though. He wanted this fleshie to stay, for reasons of his own. He couldn't let Stinkie know, though, no, not yet. He'd have to use reverse-psychology. Let this fleshie think he wanted her to leave, and she'd stay. Yes, he predicted she'd stay. There was something about her, the way she looked, the way she acted, even what he sensed about her. Yes. She would stay.

The girl rubbed her arm, nervously glancing around her. She picked at a couple locks of her drenched mop of brown hair that rested on her head. "Uh, sir . . ." she started, nervously, "I . . . have no home . . . Because of what's happening, I can't stay in one place for long."

Stretch mentally frowned. He'd gotten the answer he'd expected—well, half of it, anyways. He didn't expect that she couldn't stay in one place for long. No, that wouldn't do. Suddenly, his cunning brain came up with an idea. He gave Stinkie a look that clearly said, 'She-doesn't-know-you're-here-so-don't-talk'. Stinkie gave his brother a nod, wondering just what he was up to. Nonetheless, he floated back a bit, giving his brother a bit more space.

"Then, you'll stay here," Stretch announced, a smug smirk set on his face. His lanky arms crossed matter-of-factly and he gave a small nod.

Lightning crackled and thunder boomed and echoed through the manor. The girl looked up into the darkness, startled. "Are you sure, sir?" she asked, "I don't want to be a bother to you!"

Stretch laughed. "Bother? Ya won't be a bother! So don't worry! Ya don't have anything else dat needs ta be packed or unpacked, do ya? Belongings?"

The girl shook her head. "This is all I have," she said, gesturing to the clothes on her back, soaked and dirty.

"Fine then!" Stretch said, "Then come up da stairs. Ya won't meet me in person just yet. We'll wait for da moment, okay?"

The girl nodded, starting towards the staircase. Another crackle of lightning broke through the sky, and the thunder echoed again. The girl shuddered, but pressed on. She neared the top of the stairs.

"Alright, continue down dis hall," Stretch said, from beside her, making her look straight through him, in confusion. "There should be more rooms. Go in da fourth one to yer right." She did so. Stinkie and Stretch followed, invisible.

The room was a good size, about the same size as Casper's had been, only a little larger. The large bed seemed cozy enough, and the view was incredible, if a bit disturbing due to the storm. The large window faced out towards the sea, which churned uneasily as the lightning and the winds sloshed the sea around. The rain pelted the window, creating a steady rhythm. Although a bit dark, and perhaps even a bit gloomy, it was warm and somewhat cozy.

"And what's yer name?" Stretch asked. The girl looked up, towards the open door.

"Christine," she said, "My name is Christine."

Stretch pushed Stinkie out of the room. "I'll go downstairs to da kitchen, it's easy ta find. Come down in a half hour for dinner. You'll meet me and my brother then." With that, he floated, invisibly, out of the room, leaving Christine to ponder over this stranger.


"What da hell was that about?" Stinkie asked his brother as they reached the kitchen, crossing his arms and becoming visible. Stretch became visible, going towards the refrigerator. "A fleshie is goin' ta live wit us? What is goin' on through yer head?"

Stretch tossed an empty beer can as his brother's head. "Ah shaddup!" he growled, irritated, "What's so wrong wit it? It's just a fleshie, we've dealt wit fleshies before."

"But we've never invited complete strangers into our house," Stinkie said. "It's not like you ta put up with fleshies like this, Stretch."

"Maybe it's time for a little change, Stinkie," Stretch said, smirking, before materializing through the wall, leaving Stinkie alone in the kitchen. Stinkie glared at his brother. Something was fishy. Stretch never acted like this before. What was it about this fleshie that changed him?


Alrighty, there's the first chapter. Sorry if it's not good. I was thinking of many different ideas for the plot, including and excluding Casper and the Harveys, and this is how it worked out, though I had to go and change the ghost's speech. Hopefully you liked it. I would like three reviews, more or less.

Next chapter: Christine meets the ghosts! Did you know I actually liked Stinkie when I watched Casper? And now old feelings are coming back. -sniffle- He's still my favorite of the Trio, the best ghost ever!